Unmade
by FollowYourSmile
Summary: Clint was sent to kill the Black Widow, but he made a different call. This follows their relationship from the moment he saves her.
1. Making A Different Call

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel._

_These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update._

_I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!_

_The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!_

* * *

Clint Barton had been sent to kill the Black Widow and this was his opportunity. He stood, his bow drawn as she sat tied up in front of him, helpless. Her green eyes darted back and forth, frantically trying to find a way out. She was young, much younger than he had thought she would be, and she was frightened. Created to kill, a weapon of mass destruction and there she was in front of him, shivering.

Her eyes locked with his and she opened her mouth, the softest whisper escaping, "Пожалуйста, нет…" They were simple words, ones that he could understand as they echoed in his mind, _"Please, no..." _

Clint stared at her, his mind whirring. This was supposed to just be another mission, but he had studied her, seen her when she thought nobody could. He had watched her move a small boy out of the way when she was pursuing her mark. She hadn't pushed him; she had lifted him gently and put him behind a crate. It was such a gentle moment, one that had caught Clint completely off-guard. It was why he hadn't shot her before now. They had to be face to face, to talk. Was there really no hope for her?

"What's your name," he demanded, trying to buy himself a little time to work out his next move.

There was silence. She stared back at him, her brow furrowed. "I am… You don't know?"

"You're known as the Black Widow, but that isn't really your name. You were taken from your family and you were trained to be an assassin for the KGB where they gave you a number, not a name. But you have one. Do you remember it?"

The redhead looked down, breaking their eye contact. Clint waited, willing to give her the time she needed. He didn't see her mouth move, but the words came clearly. "Natalia Alianovna Romanoff." Clint continued to stare at her until she looked up at him again, her eyes meeting his as she spoke, "You could have killed me by now. Why haven't you?"

He lowered his bow a little as he considered her. "I work for a counter-intelligence agency called S.H.I.E.L.D. I think you could be an asset to our team. You could do some good in the world." Even as he said it, Clint felt like it was a weak pitch.

Natalia Romanoff's response was almost immediate, "To defect from Russia would be failure, and I never fail."

Barton couldn't help but smile softly, "Not following an order isn't failure, Miss Romanoff. Sometimes, you just have to make a different call." He hesitated then sighed softly, "We can keep you safe, Natalia. All you have to do is say yes."

Her eyes drifted out of focus for a moment, as though she was remembering something; seeing something he could not see, and then she spoke, "Yes."

* * *

She was silent after that. He collected her few possessions and got her something to eat and drink. He led her to the quinjet and flew her back to S.H.I.E.L.D. yet still, she said nothing. She was taken from him when they landed. He had fought the other agents but had been ordered to stand down. He had yelled that no harm was to come to her and then, Clint Barton and his bow and arrow had chased Director Fury.

"Director, if you'll just listen-"

"I don't want listen, Agent Barton. I gave you an order and you deliberately disobeyed that order. If you can't finish the job, then I'll have someone else do it."

Clint glared at his boss, determined to make himself heard. "Sir," he began, "she was brainwashed and then she was alone. I believe she's afraid and that she needs to be rehabilitated and reintroduced to normal society. I believe that she could be an asset to S.H.I.E.L.D. and I will take full responsibility for her."

Nick Fury studied Agent Barton's face, searching for a flicker of doubt that was not there. He sighed, "Barton, we can't afford to fund this experiment of yours."

Immediately, the agent responded, "I'm not asking you to fund it, sir. I'd like to do this on my own." He lowered his voice so only Fury could hear him, "I'd like to take her home to Laura."

His good eye widened, Director Fury spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper, "You have a son, Agent Barton. Remember that."

Clint's eyes flicked momentarily to the monitor that showed the redheaded woman in her holding cell. "I know," he stated, "and I have complete faith in her."


	2. A Change of Heart

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel._

_These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update._

_I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!_

_The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!_

* * *

Clint didn't know how to tell his wife that he was bringing a stranger home. Not just any stranger, either: an ex-agent for the KGB that he was hoping to rehabilitate in their home with their infant son around. He glanced at the woman next to him. Nobody knew that Clint had a family. Director Fury had agreed to keep his family and their home off S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files and Clint was grateful for that. Now here he was, sacrificing it all for this woman.

It hadn't been easy arranging to get her to the homestead either. He'd persuaded Fury to get him clearance to land a quinjet at a commercial airport where he would collect his truck and drive to the farm. Another agent would return the quinjet to the S.H.I.E.L.D. base after Clint and Natalia had left in order to keep his secret. As he turned onto the dirt road that led to his house, Clint cleared his throat and spoke, "Just so you're aware, nobody at S.H.I.E.L.D. or anywhere else knows about this place. I like to keep my family out of the line of fire. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep that secret." He stopped the truck and looked her, waiting until she nodded in agreement before he opened the door.

The front door of the house flew open before Natalia had even finished getting out of the car. A dark haired woman ran down the steps towards Clint. Instinctively, Natalia jumped in front of him poised to attack as the other woman stopped abruptly and frowned before looking at the man who gave her a small wave.

"Honey, this is Natalia. Natalia, this is my wife, Laura." Clint gave his wife a look that told her he would explain later. The redhead hesitated then stepped aside, giving Clint the space to embrace his wife.

With little conversation, he showed their houseguest to her room, showed her where the bathroom was and told her to make herself at home before leaving her to her own devices.

In the privacy of the bedroom, Natalia paced for a few minutes, fidgeting. She was sure that she was tired and that she needed to sleep. She wanted to sleep but sleep never came easily to her, especially when her mind was whirring like it was. Why had she jumped in front of him like that? He had told her that his family lived here, yet her instinct was to be defensive. It was the first time she could remember defending someone other than herself. The Russian hadn't missed the look that the agent had given his wife either. She knew they would argue and she wasn't interested in being a part of it, so she settled on the bed and tried to tune out the shriek that came up through the floorboards. "K-G-B?!"

Clint flinched at the way his wife shouted each letter so clearly.

"Are you telling me- are you really, honestly telling me that you went to Russia to do your job and you came back with an agent from the KGB?! And then you BROUGHT HER INTO OUR HOME?!" Laura was almost manic, not considering her sleeping infant son or their guest upstairs. She loved her husband but sometimes he pushed the boundaries in the worst way.

"Laur," Clint started, not really sure where to go from there. "I'm sorry I didn't call first… But you saw her. If she was all bad, she wouldn't have tried to defend me. That's a big step for her. Please, try to trust her."

* * *

A week passed before Clint could be sure of his decision. The redhead hadn't said a word the whole time she had been there. She kept to her room and didn't eat. Laura was losing patience, irritated by the dark cloud that seemed to have settled on their home when the unsmiling woman arrived. Clint had spent most nights watching the woman. Laura didn't mind - if her husband was watching, then she felt safe enough to sleep.

This particular morning, she expressed her displeasure by slamming her husband's coffee cup down a little too hard, causing it to splash over the sides. He jumped then froze, his eyes immediately flicking to the stairs. Laura followed his gaze and was surprised to see the redheaded woman standing there. They hadn't heard her come down – Laura wondered how she knew which of the steps would creak and how she had avoided them.

"Good morning," Clint said, "Come sit down."

When the redhead came closer, Laura could see how pale she was. The dark circles under her eyes made it clear that she had not slept since she'd been there. She looked fragile. Even through her frustration, Laura couldn't help but soften towards the woman and poured her a cup of coffee. Big eyes looked up at her. "Thank you," the woman said.

Clint looked up from feeding his son, a little surprised to hear her speak. In a week he hadn't been able to get anything out of her. Maybe, he thought, she just needed time. Director Fury had only given Clint a month to prove that she could be part of the program and that annoyed Clint. One month to undo how many years of brainwashing and torture? At this moment, it occurred to Clint that he didn't know her age. He looked at her and asked, "How old are you?"

Green eyes stared at him from across the table for a minute or more before she spoke, "I don't know. They never told me."

Clint could practically hear his wife's heart breaking over this statement. He watched as Laura sat down next to their guest and put a gentle hand on her arm, "Oh, Natalia…"

"I don't want to be Natalia. She- that isn't who I want to be. That's not who I am."

Laura considered the redhead. "What about Natasha?" she suggested, "Could you be Natasha?"

The other woman looked at Laura, staring at her for several tense moments before a small, yet genuine smile spread across her face. "Natasha," she echoed, "I like that… Thank you."


	3. Piece By Piece

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel._

_These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update._

_I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!_

_The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!_

* * *

It had been two weeks since Clint had brought Natasha home. In that three weeks, he had sat by her as she tried to sleep. He spoke to her sometimes, but often they sat in silence, without her acknowledging his presence in the room. The night before though, she had rolled over to face him and watched him for a moment before she sat up.

"Why do you sit here every night?"

Clint looked at her in surprise, was that really what she had asked? He sighed, "I don't know. I guess, I wanted to keep an eye on you."

"Liar," she stated.

He raised an eyebrow at her but couldn't bring himself to disagree with her. "Alright," he started, knowing he would have to give her more information, "I thought you might need someone with you. Some nights - mostly when I come back from missions – I need to know that there's someone watching out for me or I can't sleep. Those missions where you're afraid to sleep because then you let your guard down and if you do that, you might as well commit suicide. I thought if I sat here and kept watch for you, you could sleep."

She was silent for few minutes after this, considering what he had said. When she responded, it was with the first piece of information she had given him since she told him she didn't know how old she was. Her voice was small and a little shaky, not at all the steely tone he had come to expect. "In my training… In the Red Room… To keep us in our beds, we were handcuffed. It meant we couldn't escape, or sneak around, or- or go to the bathroom. We were chained there, like animals until the morning."

Clint had known that the techniques used in this institute were more torture than anything else, but he hadn't thought too much about it. He felt sick to his stomach. As he looked at her, he considered that is was very likely he was the first person she had ever told this to. Upon this realisation, he had placed his hand next to her on the bed, his palm facing upwards. She stared at it for a moment, then put her hand on his.

Wordlessly, she had lain down again, her hand still on his as her eyes closed. It was the first decent sleep Natasha Romanoff could ever remember having.

The following morning, Clint sat across from Natasha at the breakfast table. It was the most relaxed she had looked since he had met her. His wife had evidently noticed too.

"Nat?" Laura had quickly slipped into the habit of using this nickname, and Natasha had not argued. "I have some errands to run with the baby this morning so I need to shower now or we'll be late. Would you mind feeding him his breakfast?"

Natasha looked at Clint who had been up almost every night for her. He was clearly exhausted. She felt she owed them at least this, "I- okay."

Laura pushed the highchair next to Natasha and handed her a spoon and a bowl of oatmeal before giving her arm a gentle squeeze. "Thank you."

30 minutes and several thrown spoonfuls of oatmeal later, Natasha was almost vibrating with frustration. Why was it so hard for this chubby creature to eat a damn spoon of mush? Clint scooped his son up and looked at Natasha. "Why don't you go get cleaned up? You and I have stuff to do today."

* * *

"Hit harder, Natasha! Use your skills!"

She was pulling her punches and he could feel it. He had told her that she needed to be able to spar with him if they were going to prove she could be part of S.H.I.E.L.D. He threw a punch at her and she blocked it before pushing him away with such force that he fell backwards. She shook her head, the colour draining from her face.

"I can't," she murmured, "I can't do it. I don't want to kill you."

Clint stood, brushed the dirt off himself and stepped forward, his hand held out to her. "Natasha. Trust me. Please. I told you I would keep you safe, but I can only do that if we trust each other. I trust you. _Please, trust me._"

Natasha looked from his hand to his eyes, full of pleading and truth. "I'm not ready for this."

Nodding, Clint had another idea. "Come with me." He strode over to the shed and retrieved two sledgehammers before turning the power off to the house and walking inside. He stopped in front of the kitchen wall and faced her, "I've been telling Laura I'd open up this kitchen space for her since we moved into this place. I put it off because I never think I'll have the time to finish it, but I could do it if I had some help." He handed her one of the sledgehammers and took a step back. "Knock it down," he instructed her.

Natasha stared at him, her eyes wide as she exclaimed, "What? You're not serious!"

Clint looked her in the eyes and repeated himself, "Knock it down."

The redhead hesitated for a mere moment before taking a deep breath and swinging the hammer hard at the wall. The crunch and give of the wall underneath her power gave her a rush and complete sense of relief. She couldn't help but laugh.

Grinning as she laughed, Clint nodded, "Feels good, right? Do it again."

Natasha did not have to be told twice. She swung hard again, enjoying the feeling.


	4. Barton Bootcamp

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel._

_These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update._

_I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!_

_The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!_

* * *

Giving Natasha a project to focus on was probably the best idea Clint had ever had. Laura had tried not to hang around too much while the small renovation was going on. She was mortified when she came home to find Clint and Natasha ripping apart a wall to her kitchen. Still, Clint reasoned as he examined their handiwork, it was worth the short-term inconvenience.

"You know, I really like eating in here. We should do it more often." Laura said over breakfast, the first morning they sat at the table in the new space.

Aside from fulfilling a promise to his wife, Clint had gotten Natasha to work in a partnership, rather than on her own. Given her history, he had labeled this a huge success, going so far as to call it a triumph. It was intriguing to watch Natasha work - her brow furrowed and her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she chewed absentmindedly on it. She had perfect balance, teetering on the very top of a stepladder as she patched up the ceiling.

Clint had questioned her about this, about how she was able to stand on the toes of one foot while the other just hung in the air to balance her out.

Natasha had told him matter-of-factly that part of her training was in classical ballet. She said it taught them discipline and focus - to ignore pain and become unbreakable.

The use of the word "unbreakable" had sent a shiver down his spine when he remembered the trainees were only children. Clint's mind lingered on this piece of information and he wondered what else had happened in the Red Room to make her into who she was, or at least into whom she was expected to be.

* * *

In the week leading up to the assessment at S.H.I.E.L.D., Clint tested Natasha's skills. There was little doubt in his mind that she was more than capable of the physical aspect of the tests, but he had some concerns about her trust in other people. That was something, he supposed, that would come with time.

Clint wasn't sure what he had expected when it came to training Natasha. He had observed her in Russia; he knew what she was capable of. Yet when she shot every target perfectly on the first go, he stood dumbfounded for several minutes before simply saying, "Shit, you're good."

Natasha's eyes sparkled a little as she smirked and tilted her head briefly, as though to say_ "Of course."_ He threw a few tin cans into the air that she shot easily, even yawning a little. In all his time in the field, Clint had never known anyone other than himself who never missed a shot. He hesitated, then announced that she didn't need any more target practice.

Clint had decided that they would spar at night in the barn so Laura would not witness it. His wife was afraid of very little but he tried to keep her as far away from his job as possible, and never liked her to see him fighting. When they were sparring, Natasha no longer pulled her punches. She hit him, kicked him, and concussed him twice – both times he had to bait her into fighting him again. The first time, he had been taken by surprise.

It was their first sparring session since before they had ripped down the kitchen wall and it was clear that any misgivings she had previously had about fighting him were now nonexistent. Her specialty was in close combat and as they fought, hand to hand, he almost had trouble keeping up with her. He thought he might have done alright if she hadn't managed to jump on him and almost choke him with her legs around his neck. She had slid off him and given him just enough time to gasp for air before she had kicked him square in the chest. Later, he wondered if she knew how hard she was kicking him or whether it was an accident that she had sent him sprawling backwards. His head had hit the ground and he tried unsuccessfully to stand up. The panic that crossed her face was not something he had missed, her wide green eyes staring unblinkingly at him as she ran forward to help him sit up.

"I'm sorry," she cried out, "Are you okay?" She pulled him up with his arm over her shoulder and he couldn't help but marvel at the sheer strength she must possess.

Clint's head throbbed but he shook it off, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He brushed the dirt off himself but noticed that she had not let him go "Hey, how'd you do that? Get behind me without me noticing?" It wasn't something that anyone had been able to do outside of battle in a long time.

Natasha shrugged, her eyes flicking downwards and the corner of her mouth twitching. "It's just a reflex. Once I start... we were never taught to stop," she stated, moving his arm from her shoulders and ensuring that he could stand on his own before taking a step back.

"You're going to have to learn. I'm not saying forget it completely because against an enemy, that's good – that's a really great move. That kick really, really works," he encouraged her before running his hand over the back of his head and adding, "Just maybe not so hard when we're sparring."

She took a few more steps back as she nodded. "Maybe that's enough for tonight," she commented, starting to walk away.

Clint frowned; this was not part of the plan. "Hey, don't give up. We're not done here! Natasha!" he yelled at her back and picked up a small stone from the ground, aiming and throwing it so it hit her on the shoulder. She stopped walking and Clint repeated himself, "I said we're not done. Get back here."

As she turned around, he saw a flicker of anger in her eyes and wondered if he'd pushed too far. In the dim light with shadows falling across her face, Clint saw her as the assassin she had been and it rattled him. Within moments she had him on the ground again - this time with a swift kick to the back of his knees.

"Excellent form, Ms Romanoff." Clint's eyes immediately shot to the direction the voice had come from. Nick Fury stepped out of the shadows.

Clint made to get up, but Natasha was still perched on top of him and her knee pressed harder against his chest. He looked at his boss from the ground and tried to maintain what was left of his dignity. "Director."

Fury smirked as he spoke, "Agent Barton. I see your skills have been challenged." He looked at Natasha who stared back at him with wary eyes. "We haven't been introduced. I'm Nick Fury, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D." He held his hand out to her and she ignored it, standing on her own and pulling Clint up with her.

"I know who you are," she said, coolly. The fact that Nicholas Fury had sent Agent Barton to kill her was not something she had forgotten.

Fury smiled at her and lowered his hand as he stated, "I think you'll make a fine addition to the program."

Clint questioned his boss, "You mean she's in?"

"Oh no, that's not up to me. Agent Hill will be doing the assessment. I just thought I'd check in. See you in a few days. Ms Romanoff," The Director nodded his head to Natasha, respectfully before he stepped into the shadows and was gone.

* * *

Director Fury's visit, albeit brief, had awakened Clint's dormant fears. What would happen to Natasha if Hill failed her? Couldn't Fury overrule that decision? He had to shake the fears out of his head – no, failing wasn't an option. She would have to succeed.

Clint sat, distracted as he tossed things for Natasha to shoot at. She was nervous about the assessment and this gave her mind something else to focus on without Clint having to be completely present. Absentmindedly, he flicked a playing card into the air and watched as she shot through it. As the card fell to ground, Clint looked down at it, suddenly very aware of what he was seeing. Natasha had shot straight the centre of the ace of spades. He picked it up and looked through the bullet hole. Smiling, Clint tucked the card into his back pocket. "Nat," he stated, "You're ready."


	5. Nat, Stop!

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel._

_These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update._

_I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!_

_The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!_

* * *

On the final day of the month that Director Fury had given Clint, he took Natasha in to S.H.I.E.L.D. He knew it was Maria Hill's job to grade new recruits, and he knew how harsh she could be. Natasha had made incredible progress with trusting him over their last week at the farm and Clint was proud of her.

They sat on the ground outside the training area, leaning against the wall and waiting for Hill to call them in. As he glanced at her, he noticed she wasn't blinking. It had been Laura who pointed out that Natasha didn't blink when she was nervous and Clint had made a mental note of it.

"Hey," he said softly, nudging her and trying to get her to look at him. There was no answer, but the corner of her mouth twitched and Clint knew she could hear him. "You know everything that you're going to be asked to do in there and you're good at it. You'll do great."

The door opened and Maria Hill's voice rang out, "Romanoff, Natalia."

"Natasha," Clint corrected immediately, meeting Hill's eyes as they stood, "Her name is Natasha." He was almost surprised at the steely tone of his own voice. He had always liked Agent Hill. She was skilled and straightforward but had an excellent sense of humour with a willingness to turn a blind eye to any minor prank Clint played.

Maria Hill looked from Clint to the redhead standing next to him. "Alright, _Natasha_. Inside. Barton you can stay here." She closed the door in his indignant face. The brunette faced the other woman, looking her up and down with slightly narrowed eyes. Romanoff was petite, but muscular. Her green eyes stared straight ahead, not meeting her assessor's. "You have five minutes to stretch," Maria stated.

"No thank you, I'd like to begin," Natasha responded immediately, her features set in determination. Her voice was low and husky, almost hypnotising. Hill knew she was dangerous.

"Makes no difference to me. Marksmanship first." She led the way across to the shooting gallery and handed the redhead two pistols. Maria pointed to the earmuffs on the bench, "Put them on and when the light at the back goes green, you will shoot the targets as they come up." Natasha did as she was told and watched as the brunette put her own pair of earmuffs on.

Maria Hill observed that Natasha did not stand poised to shoot, but rather with her hands holding the pistols by her side, a calm look on her face. When the light turned green, the first target sprang up from its position. BANG. BANG. BANG. The woman had not only shot the first target, but the second and third before they had even finished popping up from their positions. Hill watched as the redhead shot targets four through ten, each bullet piercing the centre of the mark. Ten perfect shots. The light at the back of the room went red, and Natasha laid the pistols down before she looked toward the brunette. "Alright," Maria said, "Let's move on."

* * *

The next tasks were simple enough for Natasha. There was an obstacle course that the participant was required to complete in less than seven minutes, which she completed in four. Hill made her do it twice. Next, an assessment of the foreign language skills the applicant claimed to have. This took the longest – Natasha had declared 10 languages before Agent Hill stopped her "– Latin? You speak Latin? Nobody speaks Latin."

Natasha's eyebrow raised and she smirked a little as she responded, "Et ego operor." _"I do."_

Hill looked blankly at Natasha for a moment then inclined her head slightly and murmured, "I stand corrected." She marked it off on her paperwork.

The second to last task was the lie detector. It was common knowledge that if you work with an intelligence agency, you risk being kidnapped and tortured for information. Therefore, it was imperative that any prospective agent be able to give false information without the polygraph picking up on it. Agent Hill was almost sure that Natasha would give something away, but she did not. Her reactions were steady and each reading was perfect – even when Hill had asked her what name she was born with and the redhead had responded "Natasha Romanoff." There was no sign in the reading that this had been untrue, yet Maria knew it was. She couldn't help feeling impressed as she called for the beginning of the final task.

"Sparring," Hill announced and Natasha looked towards the door she had come through, expectantly. The brunette smiled, "No, not with Barton. I requested alternate assistance."

This made Natasha nervous. Clint had worked hard with her, pushing her to trust him until she did. He hadn't given any indication that it would not be him she was assessed with.

A door near Agent Hill opened and three men in S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms walked in. One of them stepped forwards and offered a smile that she did not return. He was tall and blonde; she thought he might have been one of the men who forced her into the holding cell when Clint had first brought her here.

"Begin," Maria ordered.

The blonde man lunged towards her and she darted out of the way, landing a kick to the middle of his back and watching him stumble forward. When he turned and ran at her, she ran towards him too, dropping and sliding on her knees when he made to hit her. She threw a punch and connected with his groin. He crumpled in front of her.

WHACK! She had hesitated a moment too long. Another agent had joined the fray and hit her in the jaw. She tasted metal – her lip was bleeding.

"Agents!" Maria Hill's voice sounded tense, but Natasha barely even registered it as a sound.

Her vivid hair swished as she whirled around, kicking her attacker hard in the side of the head and grabbing his gun as he fell, unconscious to the floor. She fired the gun at the next man running towards her before realising it only contained rubber bullets.

Unbeknownst to Natasha, Clint had commandeered the nearest computer to view a live feed from the surveillance cameras of her entire assessment. Cursing Maria Hill, he ran back to the door. Two agents stood there, blocking his entry. Clint struggled with them, trying to force the door open. If he didn't get in there, he couldn't be sure that Natasha wouldn't lose control. They all froze at the sound of a gunshot. There wasn't supposed to be anymore shooting in the assessment. Clint took the opportunity of the other agents' distraction to push through them to the door.

Cursing, Natasha tossed the gun aside and ran towards the man, her face set. She blocked his punches with expert precision and grabbed his arm, twisting it and using her grip as leverage to boost herself onto his shoulders.

The entryway burst open and a voice rang throughout the room, "NAT, STOP!"

Natasha froze; her attention turning immediately to the owner of the voice with her right leg clamped around the agent's neck as she perched on his shoulders. There was very little that could make the Black Widow stop what she had been trained all her life to do, but the sound of Clint Barton's yell shot through her like lightning. She loosened her grip around the agent's neck and jumped to the floor. As she looked around her at the two unconscious agents and the one kneeling next to her, gasping as he tried to get his breath back, she sighed.

The redhead put her hand out to help the agent to his feet as Clint and Maria approached them.

"I'm sorry," Natasha said, her eyes cast down. She knew she had lost control.

"Don't apologise," Maria Hill insisted.

Clint put a hand on Natasha's shoulder and she looked at him. His face was pale, as he waited for Hill to continue.

She looked from one to the other of them then handed Natasha the paperwork. "Congratulations, you passed."

Nat looked from Clint to Maria for confirmation and was shocked to see a warm smile on the brunette's face. Maria held out her hand for Natasha to shake, "Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D., Agent Romanoff."


	6. Agents of SHIELD

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel._

_These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update._

_I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!_

_The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!_

* * *

The news that the most recent recruit of S.H.I.E.L.D. had been awarded the highest marks in the history of the program spread throughout the base like wildfire. It was common knowledge that Maria Hill was the toughest assessor around, and the word was that this new recruit had really impressed Agent Hill - an otherwise unheard of event.

When Natasha walked on to the base, her new ID clipped to her belt and Clint by her side, she couldn't help but notice the heads that turned in her direction. There were a few whispers but mostly people just stared. As someone who lived most of her life undercover, this made her incredibly uncomfortable. The blonde man that Natasha had faced in her assessment changed direction when he saw her coming down the hall towards her. Clint laughed, and it made her feel better.

Maria Hill was waiting for the agents to gather and she smiled when she saw Natasha. "Listen up, Agents," Hill called over the general murmur, "Most of you know what you're supposed to be doing, there's just a few minor changes. There was a KGB attack in Moscow last night – S.T.R.I.K.E. sent a team in and they handled it."

Natasha felt several pairs of eyes stare in her direction and the woman on the other side of her moved over slightly. Clint turned around to face the other agents, who quickly looked away. You didn't mess with Hawkeye.

Hill continued, "I want everyone up to Level 4 filtering through all our chatter from Russia. You will alert the Director immediately if you find anything. Level 9, you are required to work on Project E.X.O.D.U.S. whether you feel it's worth your time or not. If you're not there, I will know. Everyone else, business as usual."

At the end of her briefing, Maria looked towards Clint and Natasha, "Agents Barton and Romanoff – with me." Natasha and Clint followed Agent Hill to a conference table where she sat and put a file down. She looked at Nat, "It's good to have you on board, Agent Romanoff."

"Not to interrupt the pleasantries, but didn't you need us for something?" Clint was not patient, Natasha knew this already.

Hill nodded, "Yes, I did – I do. How much do you know about Gerard Molleur?"

* * *

"So this guy is the CEO of France's biggest financial corporation and he still feels the need to kidnap people? Seems unnecessary."

Natasha, sitting in a quiet café across the road from AXA's main building, resisted a strong urge to roll her eyes. She responded quietly so as not to draw attention to herself, "Of course it's unnecessary – that's what makes _him _the bad guy."

Clint crouched on a rooftop opposite the building, watching and waiting. "Yeah, but why the kidnapping? It's been done to-" A van with dark windows pulled up at the entrance and Clint stopped immediately. "Nat," he warned, "Eyes up."

"I see them," Natasha responded from her position below. She placed a few euros on the table to pay for her coffee and slipped into the crowd, watching as several men and women were herded into the building by security officers. A few moments after they went in, Natasha crossed the street further down. As she walked by security at the front door, she tripped herself, falling over in front of the men.

A general cry went up and Clint smiled from up above as he watched.

"Madame, êtes-vous blessé?" one of the men exclaimed, hurrying to make sure she was alright and helping her up. Natasha put her arms around him and took his security badge, slipping it into her own pocket as he helped her.

"Non, je vais bien. Merci," she smiled at him and kissed his cheek. Walking away, she tried to ignore Clint's chuckle in her ear, "Poor guy."

If she was honest, Natasha was almost mortified at how lax the security had been on the ground floor. She let herself in the back of the building and took out two security guards on her way to the surveillance room. The badge she had stolen let her in and she silenced the lone officer in the room with a kick to the temple. "Only a Level 3 clearance to get in here? Really, boys? This is just embarrassing." Pushing the unconscious man aside, Natasha shut off all cameras and the internal security locks that required higher level passes. "Alright, Barton. It's go time. I'm going for the hostages."

From the rooftop, Clint drew is bow back aiming towards the entrance. He fired, watching as his arrow soared through the air and grappled to the front door. The two guards turned to look at it; barely having time to register what it was before it detonated. The blast was small and contained, only big enough to knock the officers unconscious. As planned, Clint notified the local police.

"Front door's clear, police are on their way. They'll be waiting with EMTs when we get out," he said, standing on up on the roof.

"Great," came Natasha's reply – she sounded like she was wrestling. "If you want to give me a hand in here, that'd be good!"

"Where-"

She cut him off, "Eighth floor, south-west corner!"

He scanned the windows for a sign of Natasha and spotted her in close combat with a group of guards. Selecting an arrowhead, Clint fired, and zip-lined down. He crashed through the window, sending the majority of the guards flying.

"So glad you could join us," Natasha said, blocking the punches of the man she was fighting.

"When did you have time for a wardrobe change?" Clint asked, as Natasha ducked, leaving him free to punch the guard in the face.

Kicking the guard in the back of the head and watching him fall to the ground, she responded, "When I was waiting for you."

Clint rolled his eyes and kicked opened the door to the room the hostages were in. "Hey there. Everyone doing alright? Good. Time to go."

There was gunfire outside and Clint glanced down to the street. "Molleur," he said, looking at Nat, "Get them out."

She whirled around but jerked backwards at a pull on her hair. A lock of her hair had caught in a notch of Clint's armguard when they had both bent to help a hostage. "Shit!" she cursed, reaching down and grasping for the knife she kept strapped to her calf. "Don't move," she yelled at Clint as sirens and gunfire sounded from the street. Gripping the knife, she hacked off the lock of her hair before ushering the hostages down the fire stairs.

Clint whipped an arrow out, firing through the broken window at Molleur, realising too late that one of the guards was now conscious again. The guard's punch sent Clint backwards and he winced as the shattered glass from the window pierced his shoulder. He groaned as he started to struggle up, before a gunshot sounded from right above him. There was a blur of red hair and a hand gripping his arm. "Nat, get out of here. Go!" Clint tried to shake her off but she shifted, draping his arm over her shoulder.

"Like hell," she responded, leading him down to the lobby.

* * *

Clint's arrow from the window had pierced Molleur's shoulder, slowing him down enough for the French police to arrest him. With the hostages taken care of, Natasha had all but carried Clint out of the back door.

In their hotel room, Clint lay recovering. Natasha had stitched the wound on his shoulder before going to take a shower and giving him space to call Laura and let her know they were fine. When she emerged in her sweatpants and tank top with her wet hair down, she had a pair of scissors in her hand. Clint looked at her warily, "Nat? What are you doing?"

She handed Clint the scissors and sat with her back to him. "Cut it off."

He sat, frowning and argued, "What? No!"

Natasha turned to glare at him as she hissed, "It could have ruined everything today. I'm not having that happen again. Cut it. Now."

There was really no choice, Clint raised the scissors and cut Natasha's hair.


	7. Little Orphan Agent

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel._

_These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update._

_I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!_

_The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!_

_The points brought up in this chapter will be addressed later - fear not! Just a little interlude between the missions!_

* * *

There was separate accommodation in the form of small, one bedroom apartments within the walls of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s base and Natasha had considered it an ideal situation. She was an agent now after all, and the job was really all she had. When he was working, Clint always slept on the base too. He knew Fury would respect his decision if he chose to go home, but there was little chance of him doing so regularly without arousing suspicion. And so it was that Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff became next-door neighbours.

Natasha was better at sleeping on her own now. The security of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base and the triple deadlock on her door definitely helped, as did the thought that her first and only friend was on the other side of the wall. Although she was fairly certain that Director Fury, Agent Hill, and Agent Coulson all liked her well enough, she would not call any of them her friends. Clint was the only one who knew her, and even he didn't know many of her secrets.

It was on particularly bad days – ones where Clint was training or doing surveillance somewhere else, or when she just didn't have enough to do - that she noticed it most. The stares from people, the way they avoided her. They were afraid, and although she didn't blame them, she didn't like being isolated in so crowded a place. It made her think of the Red Room. It was on the nights following these kinds of days that Natasha did not sleep. Even Clint, who often tapped morse code messages through the wall to her, had not made her feel better tonight. Unable to bear being in the room a minute more, she dressed, grabbed her ID and slipped out the door. Once outside, she headed East towards the exit. She waved her pass in front of the ID reader, slipping out as soon as the door slid open.

It was November and the nights were cooling down considerably. She climbed onto the retaining wall and sat with her knees pulled up to her chest. Natasha shivered and breathed the cold air deeply into her lungs. It made her feel slightly numb, and she relished in it. That was what she needed. Perhaps Madame B had been right; perhaps not feeling anything was the key. A pang shot through Natasha's stomach and she swallowed, holding her knees tighter and breathing deeply again.

Natasha looked around when she heard the door sliding open, immediately recognising Clint's silhouette. She turned away from him, giving herself a few moments to wipe any vulnerability off her features before he leapt onto the wall beside her.

"Hey," he offered her a mug and she accepted it. "I noticed you were missing. Your door was unlocked."

She said nothing but looked down at the mug. There were marshmallows floating in it. To put off having to say anything, she took a sip and her eyebrow raised. "Is that cinnamon? In hot chocolate?"

Clint smiled but kept looking straight ahead, "Laura always says that cinnamon makes most things better."

Natasha sipped again, and let the warm liquid heat her up a little. She was grateful to Clint for trying to make her feel better, but it didn't solve the problem.

"They'll come around, you know. The other agents. You're still new, you're still a mystery," he paused and looked at her, "and much like you, they're trained not to trust easily."

A look of mild surprise flickered across the redhead's face. She hadn't expected him to know that's what was bothering her. It made her uncomfortable that he had observed it and she inwardly chastised herself for letting her guard down. There was always a risk when you got familiar with someone - that was why she had never had friends.

Clint sat in silence with Natasha for some time, letting her think. He knew that she needed to talk in her own time and that if he pushed her, she would completely shut down. He had learned that the hard way. Although their partnership was easy – he trusted her and her skills in the field as much as he trusted his own – their conversations consisted mostly of mission strategies or witty banter. She had given nothing more away about her past since she had told him about her ballet training. The thought of that word _"unbreakable"_ still made him shiver a little. He pictured a tiny redheaded girl being forced to practice until she collapsed, her green eyes wide and tearless, afraid of what would happen to her if she cried.

"Did I ever tell you, I was an orphan?" The words tumbled out of Clint's mouth before he could stop them and he immediately wished he could snatch them back. This wasn't something he talked about with anyone. He felt Natasha's eyes on him for the first time since they'd been sitting there. He did not look back at her, even as her fingertips touched his hand.

"Me too."

There was a small quality to her voice, a flicker of emotion that he hadn't heard since she'd first told him about the Red Room. He looked at her then and there was an understanding in her eyes. They didn't have to talk about it anymore at that moment. It was enough to sit there and be with someone who understood what it felt like.

Neither Natasha nor Clint slept much that night. They had gone back to their rooms only two hours before dawn and Natasha had tapped two words through the wall in morse code, "Thank you." Clint had smiled and rolled over, closing his eyes and praying for sleep to come.


	8. STRIKE Team Delta: Abidjan Mission

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel._

_These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update._

_I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!_

_The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!_

* * *

Maria Hill stood to the side of her desk with Clint and called Natasha over to her the minute she saw the red hair in amongst the agents. "Romanoff! Director Fury has requested that you and Barton handle a new mission. Come with me." They followed Agent Hill as she led them once again to the conference table where a man in a dark suit was waiting for them.

"Hey Coulson," Clint greeted the man, clapping him on the shoulder and sitting down at the table.

"Natasha Romanoff, I'd like you to meet Phil Coulson. He takes his orders from Director Fury and he's Barton's superior - yours too. He has a mission for you. Coulson, they're all yours," Hill left them with the man. Natasha observed his kind eyes and his genuine smile and decided that she liked Phil Coulson. It helped that Clint was comfortable with the man and she was inclined to trust his judgement.

"Glad to have you with us, Agent Romanoff. I hope you're settling in well." Coulson's eyes sparkled at her and she smiled, shaking his outstretched hand. He continued, "The Director has asked that the two of you take part in a new S.T.R.I.K.E. Team. Delta," Coulson said.

"S.T.R.I.K.E.?" Natasha questioned. She had only heard the term in passing, certainly not any capacity that involved her, and was never interested long enough to linger on what it actually was.

"Special Tactical Reserve for International Key Emergencies," Coulson responded.

Seeing she was still not entirely clear on who they were, Clint added, "It's just a special mission unit of S.H.I.E.L.D. They all answer to Fury." He knew that it was important for Natasha to know whom she was working for and if she trusted Fury, she would trust his teams.

Nat nodded, accepting Clint's response, "I see. What do they want us to do?"

Agent Coulson handed her a folder and Clint peered over her shoulder at the contents as it was explained, "A terrorist organisation has made a threat on the economic capital of the Ivory Coast."

"Abidjan," Natasha said and Coulson nodded. "There are 3 and a half million people in that city, why hasn't S.H.I.E.L.D. stepped in before now?"

"We've been keeping an eye on them." All three agents at the table looked around at the sound of Nick Fury's voice. Natasha looked from his eye patch to his good eye and couldn't help but smile at his choice of words. He smiled back at her, "Abidjan is a sister city to San Francisco. We have agents there who have been tracking the situation. They alerted us to this particular threat."

Barton frowned, "Me and Nat are working just fine as our own team. And S.T.R.I.K.E.'s been handling terrorist threats since its inception, why bring us into it?" Clint could count the number of times he had demanded an explanation for a mission on one hand, but having seen the files on the other members of the team, he took an immediate dislike to the leader. Brock Rumlow did not appear to be someone Clint would care to work with.

Nick Fury, looked at him, "Because, Agent Barton, you and Agent Romanoff have completed a dozen minor missions together and have not required an extraction plan once. You _are _an excellent team and I want you there to make sure the rest of them succeed. This is not a mission I care to fail on."

* * *

Clint looked at Natasha in her suit out of the corner of his eye and briefly wondered where she kept everything she seemed to use in a fight. " How many weapons do you have on you," he asked out of curiosity.

"Twenty-seven," she responded without hesitation as she shifted in her seat on the jet. She eyed the men seated around her with slight apprehension. Knowing she had to work with people that made every hair on the back of her neck stand up made her extremely uncomfortable. It had not helped her to know that Clint was also wary of the team. Even as he was settled in next to her, he scowled at the others.

He glanced down and noticed cuffs on her wrists that he hadn't seen before, "Coulson give you some new toys?"

She murmured back to him, "Fury did."

There was an instant shift in energy on jet. If Nick Fury had given her a weapon, it would have to be something really good. Some of the men eyed her warily and Clint asked, "What do they do?"

"You'll see." The jet descended towards the Ivory Coast and Natasha sprang up from her seat. Balancing in a jet heading for the ground was not a problem for her.

Clint fastened his armguard before standing next to Natasha, ready to disembark, "You got my back out there?"

"You know I do." She didn't meet his eyes, but he knew by the tone of her voice that she meant it.

* * *

"Nat," Clint yelled, "Go!"

"And let you guys have all the fun" her shout came back, "Not likely."

Natasha Romanoff landed next to her partner, springing up immediately to fire at the enemies. Side by side, they fought, much like any other mission.

Clint fired his arrows expertly, pausing just long enough to allow Natasha to use his knee as a booster to get onto the top of a jeep. She shot twice, taking out two enemies and scanning for the S.T.R.I.K.E. team. Spotting Rumlow with a team member in hand-to-hand combat with two of the terrorists, Natasha growled in frustration and pulled two small discs from her wrist cuffs.

"Nat," Clint, called up to her, "What are you doing?"

She took aim as she responded, "The right thing." She threw the discs. The men Rumlow and his companion were fighting shuddered as electricity shot through them before collapsing as Natasha jumped down off the roof of the jeep towards them. "You doin' okay, boys?"

Rumlow grinned at her, "Thanks."

She didn't respond, but turned around as she heard Clint running towards them. He nodded, indication all was clear, "Let's go." He waited until Rumlow was back on the jet before he smiled, at Natasha, "That's a hell of toy you've got. It suits you. I think Fury knew what he was doing when he gave you that today."

"He called it 'The Widow's Bite'," she responded, unable to help the smirk that crossed her face as she climbed aboard, Clint chuckling in her wake.


	9. Carnie Clint

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel._

_These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update._

_I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!_

_The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!_

* * *

Natasha couldn't sleep. She had been dwelling on what Clint had told her about him being an orphan. She hadn't talked to anyone about not knowing her parents before. She didn't know who they were, or what had happened to them, and Clint might be the only person she trusted who would understand that. Getting up and pulling a sweater on, she made her way outside and knocked on Clint's door.

"How did your parents die?" she asked immediately when he opened the door. The words flew out of her mouth before she could even think about whether or not it was okay to ask.

Clint had been sleeping. His hair stuck up at odd angles and he looked groggily at Natasha, a little surprised that she actually asked that question. He cleared his throat and stood aside to let her into his apartment as he answered her question, "Car crash."

She sank onto his couch, her eyes cast down as she murmured, "I shouldn't have asked, right? I'm sorry about your parents."

"I'm not." His words hung in the air; a bitter quality to them.

It was Natasha's turn to look surprised. She watched him drop down onto the couch next to her and put his feet on the coffee table. "You aren't sorry your parents died?"

Clint shook his head and settled back in his seat, fiddling with the pocketknife he had picked up from the coffee table. "No. Well, my mom, maybe, but my dad? Nah. I was seven-years-old and hated him. He was… An asshole. Plain and simple. And she never stood up to him."

Natasha tucked her feet under her and watched him, hoping he would keep going. It helped her to learn about him; it made her feel like she could trust him with some of her own secrets. Clint balanced the point of the knife on his index finger before throwing it and hitting a marked part of the wall. When she looked at it, Natasha could see that he had thrown the knife before, marking his initials in the wall.

She frowned at the knife as she asked, "Where did you learn that?"

Clint got up and retrieved the knife, folding the blade back and tossing the knife onto the table. "I ran away with my brother and joined a circus."

She laughed but stopped abruptly at the look on his face. "Wait…you're serious?"

Clint nodded sharply and responded, "After our parents died, we bounced around foster homes and ended up in one with a guy just like my daddy. Same rough attitude, same anger problem. Even hit us like him too. Dad was good at that. Did you know that's how my hearing was damaged the first time?"

"Your-" her eyes scanned his face looking for a shadow of a lie. There was none. "You lost your hearing?" How could she have missed that?

"I mouthed off to him for hitting my mom and he picked me up and threw me. Whacked my head against a wall until my ears bled. I was deaf – only temporarily. I learned to sign and everything. I recovered but it got a little worse whenever our foster father beat me. Hearing still isn't perfect, and I seem to lose it again if I get hit too hard in a fight. So, you know, I try not to..."

Natasha's mouth twitched and she fought to keep her temper under control. "And where did the circus come in?"

Clint's eyes were closed. "There was a fight between Barney and our foster father. We ran away and I saw the circus tent so we tried to hide there. One of the guys there stood up for us when our foster dad came after us. They took us in, gave us jobs. The swordsman taught me how to shoot; gave me the name 'Hawkeye'. He…didn't turn out to be the best guy… They were thieves. I was a thief too; we all were. That's carnies for you. One day I decided I- I didn't like it so much. I made my choice; Barney chose differently."

Natasha sat in silence as she absorbed everything Clint had said. She could not have guessed this about him. "Clint, I'm- I'm really sorry." The words felt weak as they came out of her mouth. She hated that. Reaching over, she put her hand on his. He turned his hand over and squeezed hers once before letting go. "What happened to your foster father?"

"Dunno. Probably dead," Clint shrugged and opened his eyes again, surprised to see that Natasha was no longer sitting next to him but was at the door. She always moved in silence. "Where are-"

"There's something I need to do. Go to sleep. I'll be back tomorrow." With that, she slipped out the door and left him to his thoughts.

* * *

At exactly 4 o'clock the following afternoon, Natasha Romanoff appeared on the training ground. She sat, observing Clint in silence. She saw the furrow in his brow and the coolness in his eyes. His mind was somewhere else. She watched as he fired arrow after arrow toward the junior agent he had grabbed to assist him. Each arrow hit perfectly around the agent, never piercing him. A circus trick, she could see that now.

Clint retrieved the arrows and freed the agent before climbing up next to Natasha. "Where were you?"

"I was thinking about what you said last night," she said truthfully, "That stuff about your foster father."

"Oh," Clint shifted, half-wishing he hadn't said anything, "Right."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a photograph, handing it to him. "This was him, right? Your foster dad?"

Looking at the photograph, Clint scowled in revulsion at the man staring up from the image and nodded. "Yeah, that- wait… Did you say _'was_'?" He stared at her and noticed the swelling on face, the split in her lip, and the dark look in her eyes.

"Nat- Natasha," he grabbed her by the shoulders, "What did you do?!"

The ghost of a smirk flickered across her face, "I got him."


	10. The Ban Begins

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel._

_These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update._

_I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!_

_The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!_

* * *

Clint had asked Natasha to describe to him in vivid detail what had occurred when she had found his foster father, and she did so once they were in the privacy of her apartment. She watched cautiously as his jaw tightened when she told him how the man had punched her multiple times before she had managed to subdue him. It was with an emotionless voice that she detailed how she had stood on his throat and told him which of his foul actions he was paying for with his life before she shot him in the head. At the end of her tale, Natasha watched Clint as he processed everything.

Eventually, Clint breathed deeply and put his hand on her knee. "Thank you. You probably shouldn't have done it, but thank you." It was on odd thing to thank someone for, Natasha considered as Clint walked towards the door. Before he could open it, a knock came from the other side. "Who is it," he asked, caution clear in his voice.

"Director Nicholas Fury." The voice was calm but authoritative and Clint shot Natasha a look of concern before opening the door. Nick Fury stepped into the apartment, his good eye settling immediately on Natasha. "Ms Romanoff," he began, "I'd like a word."

Clint hovered by the door, "I was just leaving."

Fury spoke without taking his gaze off Natasha, "I'd prefer you to stay, Agent Barton. Sit down." Clint sat as their boss continued, "I am going to ask you a question, Agent Romanoff and I need to you tell me the truth. What were you doing in Iowa this morning?"

She met Fury's gaze when she spoke, perfectly in control, "I was looking for someone."

"I see. And what happened?"

Natasha didn't hesitate, but she smirked with a slight tilt of her head as she responded, "I found him."

"Yes," Director Fury sighed, "You did." He stood and paced as he spoke, "You found Agent Barton's foster father, and you shot him." He paused but she did not deny it so he continued, "Now, he was dirt-bag, there's no argument from me there. But he wasn't explicitly on our radar. You acted outside your sanction and I have to reprimand you for that."

Natasha nodded in understanding, "Consider me reprimanded." Clint stifled a laugh and even Fury smiled.

"You are an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. now, Natasha. What you do reflects on us, and I can't give you free reign to go around shooting at people who may have offended you in some way. Not unless that's part of the mission you've been given. Are we clear on that?"

"Perfectly."

"Good," Nick sighed and sat down. He liked Natasha and having her on board, particularly partnered with Barton was a benefit to them all. Despite the headache that this incident was giving him in terms of covering it up, he saw her actions for what they were – loyalty. She had formed a bond with Clint Barton the moment he had spared her life, and there was going to be little anyone could do to destroy that. It was important to keep that bond as an asset, not an obstacle. He sat and observed her for a moment before he spoke again, "Speaking as a friend, not a boss - I'm impressed that you found him. How did you know who he was?"

Natasha shrugged; she felt she had pretty much been on autopilot from the moment she had stepped out of Clint's apartment until the moment she was back at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s base. "I hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database last night and I pulled Clint's personnel file. I found when and where he was born, then I persuaded a man from child services to give me the records relating to any Barton near Waverly in Iowa. They were old records and couldn't be found digitally." She paused, noticing how Director Fury leaned back in his chair as he listened to her and could tell he was impressed with her commitment.

She continued, "It was easy enough after that. Clint had told me that he and his brother ran away from the last foster home, meaning he would have disappeared from the system. The guy hadn't moved out of the house – country houses are usually passed down through generations; he wouldn't leave it unless he had to. So I paid him a visit. I talked, he punched me, and I shot him."

"Agent Barton, you're being awfully quiet. Anything you'd care to say?"

"No. With all due respect, sir, that bastard deserved to die. I'm not saying what Nat did was completely right, I'm just saying he had it coming. And that if I'd seen him again… It probably would have been a lot worse for S.H.I.E.L.D.," Clint answered, honestly. There was little point in hiding these feelings from Fury.

"I see. Well, Agent Romanoff," Nick stood and headed to the door, "While your loyalty to Agent Barton is outstanding, as your boss, I can't let this slide unnoticed. You will stay here on the base and you will serve under Agent Hill while you are banned from active duty for two weeks."

Clint objected, "But sir-"

"Two. Weeks. Understood?" Fury looked from one to the other, awaiting a response.

"Yes, sir," they murmured together, and Director Fury left, closing the door behind him with a snap.

* * *

Natasha did not dislike Maria Hill; the woman was easy enough to get along with and had warmed to Natasha immediately after her assessment. The fact that the Russian had exceeded all her expectations had not been lost on Maria, and she was pleased to work with her.

She had caught up with Natasha in the hall on the first day of the ban, "Fury yell at you yesterday?"

Natasha shrugged as she kept walking, Hill keeping pace with her, "Not exactly. He asked me not to do it again, though."

The brunette watched the redhead and asked, "Did you agree?"

"Mostly," came the response, a smirk flickering across her face.

"I'm going to pretend you just said 'yes' so that I don't have to report that right now. But you know you can't do it again, right?" Natasha rolled her eyes and Maria took that as a yes. "Because you're on my team now, Romanoff. And my team doesn't lose."

Hill was aware that being pulled from action might make their new recruit antsy, so she had come to an agreement with Director Fury which of Natasha's skills she was allowed to put into play. The way she had hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files and accessed information only available to those with the highest level of clearance was a talent that would prove useful. Hill had instructed Natasha to hack into communication channels for specific terrorist groups and immediately pass all relevant information on to the S.T.R.I.K.E. Teams. Within three days of the fourteen-day ban, Natasha had accessed all communication channels and assigned a different agent to each channel to filter the chatter. It was clear to Maria that Natasha was much more useful to them as a field agent, where it would be much harder for her to get bored.

On the fifth day, Natasha tried to get into the training field to work out some of her frustrations, but when her ID card would not scan her in, it became clear that Director Fury had banned her from that too. Later that day, she heard Clint arguing with Fury over it. There was nothing he could do but she appreciated his support and smiled at him when he stormed out of Fury's office. She was waiting to ask the Director a favour that she wasn't entirely sure she was entitled to and she was sure that Clint yelling at him wouldn't help her case, but she had to try anyway.

"He won't listen," Clint fumed as he spotted her. She patted his arm consolingly.

"Don't worry about it, I'll keep myself busy," Natasha assured him before slipping inside their boss' office.


	11. The Ban Is Lifted

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel._

_These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update._

_I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!_

_The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!_

* * *

Thirteen days and twenty-two hours into Natasha's active duty ban, Clint sat on his bed unable to sleep. He had missed working with his friend and had missed training with her even more. Director Fury had caught them sparring in the middle of the night on day seven, and had forbade them from any further sparring outside the training field. As Natasha wasn't allowed on the training field, that meant they couldn't spar at all.

Clint hadn't actually been able to find Natasha on the base in the last week. After he'd gone into Director Fury's office and yelled at him about banning Natasha from the training field in addition to active duty, Fury had made him train junior agents. Aside from their failed attempt at sneaky sparring, he hadn't seen his friend since she had gone into Fury's office after him. Clint had even asked Hill where Natasha was, and given that his friend was supposed to be under Hill's instruction; he was more than a little frustrated when the woman had insisted she didn't know. Leaning over on his bed, Clint rapped his knuckles on the wall.

.- -.- . / -.- - ..- / ..- .-. ..-..

_"Are you up?"_

The code was tapped through the wall and Natasha, lying upside down on her bed, sat up immediately and tapped back.

.. .-. - / .- .-.. .- .- -.- ... / ..- .-. .-.-.-

_"I'm always up."_

\- . . - / - ..- - ... .. -.. . .-.-.-

_"Meet outside."_

Natasha scrambled up and pulled on a jacket and boots, rushing out the door.

Clint was waiting for her in a thick coat and scarf; he smiled at her pyjama shorts, boots, and fleece jacket. He raised an eyebrow and asked, "You do know it's the middle of the night in December, right? Don't you think you're gonna be cold?"

She laughed softly, "I'm Russian; this isn't cold."

He chuckled at her response but shivered just looking at her, "Fair call. Wanna go for a walk?"

Natasha nodded and followed him over the wall, walking along the perimeter with him. They were silent for a few minutes as they made their way around the perimeter towards S.H.I.E.L.D.'s base.

Natasha's ban from the field was over at midnight, and Clint knew she couldn't wait to be back. He broke the silence, "I haven't seen you all week, where were you?"

"I was here," she said offhandedly, "Fury said I had to stay on base, remember?"

"I looked for you. I couldn't find you anywhere," Clint was curious as to where she had hidden herself away.

She smiled with her brow slightly furrowed. "Really, Hawkeye?" Natasha shook her head before speaking again, "Did you know that S.H.I.E.L.D. has a library?" Natasha took his silence as a _'no'_ and continued, "Well, there is one. I got permission from Fury to stay in there so I could work on skills that would make me a better member of the team."

Clint frowned, more than a little confused. "The team," he questioned, "But the team is just us. And we work fine together!"

Natasha quickened her pace and stepped in front of him with a grin. She held her hand up and he looked at it; a wide smile crossing his face as she finger-spelled _"I know."_

"You learned sign language," He was so impressed, he was almost bouncing. "You learned in a week?"

_"I'm a quick learner,"_Natasha signed, smiling at how happy he was.

* * *

Clint looked at his watch and counted aloud, "5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and the ban is lifted! Welcome back, Widow."

Natasha smiled at him, allowing him to hug her briefly.

"Alright, swipe that card and let's go," Clint urged her forward.

She swiped her ID and pushed the door to the training field open. "God, I missed this place."

After sparring a little – two wins apiece – Clint reached into the pockets of his discarded coat and pulled out two beers. He handed one to her and they sat on the ground back to back, leaning on each other.

"So, I wanted to talk to you about something," Natasha began, not entirely sure what she was going to say but forging ahead anyway, "When I went after your foster father, I didn't really think about what I was doing. I didn't actually realise that I'd done it until I got back and had to change my clothes." She sighed and took a long drink of her beer. "In- in the Red Room, the woman there – we called her Madame B – she told us that emotions got in the way."

"Well," Clint said, "She wasn't wrong." Natasha opened her mouth to respond but he interrupted, "But emotions are what make us human. Feeling things - compassion, remorse, love – that makes you a better person. It's what makes it easier to do this job, to make good choices." He hadn't considered the reasons behind why Natasha had gone after his foster father. It hadn't even surprised him when she told him what she had done. It sounded like any other mission; only this one hadn't been given to them.

Natasha couldn't think of anything to say immediately, so she took another drink of her beer. It was a peaceful kind of quiet that surrounded them and they sat in silence for a few moments, drinking.

"She made us shoot live targets."

Natasha's voice came out of the silence and Clint had to replay the words in his head a few times to make sure he understood her correctly. The same sick feeling he felt the last time Natasha had talked about her training surged up in him again.

Natasha gripped the beer bottle as she spoke, "She told us that we needed to kill without remorse. We had to be machines. Just shoot. How could we be assassins if we felt sorry for our targets?"

Clint sat there for a moment, the bitterness of her voice cutting through him, "And what do you think now?"

"It made sense at the time. We did as we were told and it made it easier if we didn't feel; if there were no distractions. It's why they sterilised us, too. They called it a graduation ceremony."

She had said it as an after thought, as though it was just another training tactic. It took her a moment to register Clint's reaction.

He had started coughing and spluttering, having taken a sip of his beer at precisely the moment she had uttered her last couple of sentences. "They- what?"

Natasha realised the impact of what she had told him when she turned to face him and noted the look of horror on his face. Her blood felt like it was turning to ice in her veins. Setting her beer bottle aside, she let the reality of her words sink in for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Clint thought of Natasha and how she had been with his son. She had been confused about what to do with him; she hadn't been around a baby before, it occurred to him now that she had never had the opportunity to think about having children; that she would never have that choice. His heart ached. When he looked back up, he saw tears trickling down Natasha's face. Clint reached out and pulled Natasha into his arms, hugging her tightly as she cried for children she would never have; she did not resist his embrace.


End file.
